DUM SPIRO, SPERO
Part 32
 

"My word, how mortals take the gods to task!
All their afflictions come from us, we hear.
And what of their own failings?"

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 1, Lines 48-50. Used without permission.
 

ALLY:

August 30, 2001

This stupid cold is working my last nerve. I've had it for nearly a week now, and it's not getting better, and it's bugging the shit out of me. I think the primary reason for this is that I can't see Frohike while I'm sick. I've talked to Martha briefly a couple times on the phone, and Michael comes back and reports to us, but I think, more for myself than for him, I'd like to see him.

Not that he's been much in the mood for company. He's exhausted, in a lot of pain, and when he's awake, he's growling over something. The staff apparently likes him better when he's off in drug dreamland, and Michael certainly concurs.

It occurs to me, this is Friday.

God, I miss working. I miss being out in the world. It's a total pain in the ass sometimes, but overall, domesticity isn't working for me. It's not a matter of not having enough to do-there's plenty to do around here.

And I like being at home...but I don't like not working.

I think what annoys me most right now is that I seem to be complying with a political rhetoric which is, to say the least, off-putting. Apparently our 'leaders' feel that having mothers out of the labor market is a guaranteed cure for social and moral ills that plague us.

I'd concur with there being a plethora of social and political ills abounding, but I suspect I am in sharp disagreement as to what constitutes those ills, and what would be suitable solutions.

And the anti-Jewish rhetoric is beginning to gnaw at my nerve endings. It's everywhere. At first, it was predominantly restricted to religious broadcasting, but now it's reached over from the fringes into the heart of the mainstream media. I have a hard time watching television these days. If it's not cartoons, I tend to ignore it.

I love my children, but I'm tired of just talking to people under 18 between the hours of 8 and god knows when. Langly no longer gets home at a reasonable time most evenings-the word from his boss is, he's free to go when his work is completed-but he seems to raise the bar on a daily basis. Juliet's more mobile now, and she's fun company-sometimes. But even she has more in the way of employment than I do at the moment. With Frohike laid up, Luanne Russell has requested her assistance, and Juliet's jumped on it. She does most of it from her home, but sometimes during the day, she comes over to use the offices so that she can hack from a secure system. I know that John is not happy that she's doing this again-we all suspect this is what got her injured in the first place-but she's not doing much on-site at this point.

Mostly, she's preoccupied with home buying and planning her wedding, and I've been there, and done that, and while I enjoy listening to her carry on about it, I would prefer to have something to discuss that's not in the sphere of domesticity.

It would be so nice to be annoyed by someone I don't consider family.

And I'm worried as hell about Ellen. What the hell happened to her and Dave? I actually attended service one Friday in hopes of finding something out. Turns out people there were hoping I had something to tell THEM.

It's so bizarre...as if they just vanished. Packed up and left town and told no one. As if they were part of a witness relocation program.

Plus, Ellen is a howl, and she can keep up with me in the drink department. Getting drunk with Ellen is always a marvelous time, no matter how high the payback is the next day.

First thing I'm going to do when she comes back, we're getting a half of Jose and just doing shots till the bottle is empty.

When she comes back.

If she comes back.

Dealing with Patrick is frequently fun, but it's also exhausting, and he really needs to be with children his own age, despite the fact that apparently our politicians feel that day care is a plot to undermine the strength of American families and turn children into unfeeling zombies. And we don't live in an area that has children in it. There are only five houses on our road, they're far apart, one side of the road is forest and totally uninhabited, and if you want to return to the town proper-we're
actually in an unincorporated area of Alexandria-you have to get down a monster hill and walk about a mile down into the flatlands. Getting down the hill isn't bad, but getting up it is an interesting challenge, particularly in the hot weather, or if your car's transmission is in somewhat less than prime shape. I think Michael wagers each time he has to surmount that slope whether or not the Mustang will make it.

I've even thought about going back to interpreting, but the climate that presently exists makes it unlikely that I'd secure employment, both due to my specialty and my religious persuasion. There is something distinctly un-Christian and Darwinistic about this not-so-brave new world order we're watching materialize. Funding for accommodations for  individuals is being quietly, but surely and systematically, dismantled. There have been a number of protests by members of the various affected communities, but the legislation moves forward, and my job prospects dim in that area. Which, in my mind's eye, is trivial compared to the consequences for those who require such services in order to be productive citizens. Like it or not, it's a hearing world out there, and a seeing one, and one that tends to move around on two feet. We moved towards more civilizing influences when we enacted ADA, but the tide has turned on that.

Survival of the fittest. Most people attribute the phrase to Darwin, but Darwin never said that. It belongs to Adam Smith, the economist and author of 'The Wealth of Nations.' A god to capitalists everywhere, at least to specific classes of capitalists.

Of course it all comes back to money. Doesn't it always? That's what these jokers are about. Money and power. Their desires are no different from that of their predecessors, ultimately, even if the manifestations are different.

It's the manifestations that worry me every bit as much as the intent.

And it filters down into small details of our existence that yes, in the overall picture, are trivial details. But when you're going on 16 and are a fashion goddess, as Miranda is, being told that you will wear uniforms to school this year is the equivalent of being told to saw off your dominant arm. (Being a lefty, I refuse to say, right arm). She has been utterly livid since receiving this information at the beginning of the week. I have to confess I did not pay much attention to it earlier in the week, since we've been preoccupied with Frohike's condition, but in the last few days, I've heard about her discontent ad nauseam.

As far as I am concerned, she is free to wear whatever she wants to school and make her own statement. I warned her that she has to be prepared to deal with the consequences, but I will support her right to self-expression. And my right not to have to waste money on ugly, badly sewn garments. The only time she laughed in the past day and a half is when I said that.

What really disheartens me is how negative Miranda feels about her return to school. She has always enjoyed school, been a good student, looked forward to the social atmosphere. This year, she says, you watch, it's gonna be really different.

I have this sinking feeling that she's correct.

To compound my aggravation, Patrick has misbehaved all day, and my patience with him is in short supply. Aside from the obvious reasons, I really wish Langly'd get here and distract him. I swear, if he asks me one more time when he'll be home, I'll smack him.

No, Patrick, I'm deliberately withholding information from you in order to make your four-year-old life miserable. Not! Believe me, I have plenty of other ways to make you miserable, and if you don't settle down soon, I'm going to start employing some of these techniques.

"Mom, can you take Shelby and me to the mall?" Miranda has just emerged from the dungeon, apparently trying out the 250th hairstyle in her repertoire. Deciding how to wear your hair on the first day of school is apparently a major life decision. At least when you're in 11th grade.

"No, not tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because, one, I've taken you three times this week, which I consider to be plenty of mall trips. Two, because I happen to know you don't have any money, and I'm not giving you any. Three, because I don't feel like it."

Needless to say, this does not trigger a positive response.

"But we're bored!"

"I don't care."

"God, you'd think I was asking for the whole damn world and a million bucks to go with it!" She flounces off, stomping and sighing in that style that is perfected by teenage girls the world over.

The phone rings, and Miranda answers it. Watching a teenager react to a ringing telephone is not unlike watching one of Pavlov's dogs. Salivation at the sound of the bell. She's likely to be disappointed; it's Langly's and my phone, and she normally does not get calls up here.

So I'm a bit surprised when I hear her talking enthusiastically to the caller on the other end. I'm going to have to tell her that she's supposed to take calls on her own line.

"Mom!" About fifteen minutes have passed; I already have dinner under construction by this point. "Phone for you! It's Aunt Lydia!"

This is a surprise. I hope it's a welcome one...the tone of Miranda's conversation with her had been very friendly, but then again, Miranda is her much-beloved niece.

With me, it might be different.

Ever since Lydia was taken from us-and we are convinced she was abducted, although we have no idea by whom or for what-things have been somewhat strained between my (former) sisters-in-law and me. Nothing ever evolved into rudeness or arguing, but there has been tension there. I think at some subconscious level, they wonder if I had some responsibility for all this, seeing as it happened during a weekend when she was present in my home. Add to the awkwardness of watching me marry another man after the death of my first husband, their brother, and you're talking about strained politeness and what seems like impassable distance.

I'm a bit nervous about picking up, but I do want to hear from her. Technically, she may no longer be my sister-in-law, but in my heart, she is still my friend...and I'd like it to be that way again.

"Lydia?" I know I sound a bit tentative, but I'm trying to get the feel of the landscape here.

"Hey, Al." I find myself relaxing. This sounds like the Lydia I knew several years ago-relaxed, friendly, and good-humored. Some of the tightness that has marked her for the last couple of years has dissipated. "How's it going by you?"

How is it going, anyway?

"Well...I don't know if Miranda told you, but I'm not working right now."

"Your choice or theirs?"

"Meaning?"

She laughs. "Did you do this voluntarily, or did you get 'laid off'? The 'laid off' is touched with cynicism.

Hmm...did I do this voluntarily?

Yeah, guess I did.

"Well, as you know, we have Langly's nephew here, and I decided to take some time off to be with him and Miranda."

"You back in school yet?"

"Unfortunately, no...you're not gonna believe this, Lyddie, but my admission was rescinded.

I expect her to be appalled, or at least surprised, but it doesn't happen. She gnaws quietly on this morsel for a couple moments.

"Hmm...then maybe you won't die of shock when I tell you I got fired."

"From your teaching job? I thought you were set to go on that."

"Was. Except that I didn't like my new textbooks."

"Let me guess, they want you to teach 'creation science.'"

"Talk about a contradiction in terms, but that was it, exactly. I let them know in no uncertain terms that there's no way I can work with something that absolutely won't stand up to method, and contains a ton of inaccuracies to boot."

"Shit. I'm really sorry, Lyddie."

"Well, I do have the little problem of how I can continue eating and living indoors, but Seth can carry us for a while. Unfortunately, not so for Em."

"What happened to Emma?" I haven't heard from Emma in months.

"Em got fired, too. Apparently they've decided the programs she lobbies for are totally useless. I mean, just because the stuff she works on has some of the best track records around doesn't mean shit. She was told that her activities were 'incompatible with the goals of the administration."

"Fuck." And it's not as if Emma is rich. Anything but, as a matter of fact. Emma pretty much lives paycheck to paycheck. "When did this happen?"

"Two weeks ago. In fact, she's staying with Seth and me right now."

"She's there?"

"Yeah. I think she might try to settle out here, try to find something around here."

"She was going to try for a Washington job."

"Never came through...was about to, but then it got pulled."

"Are you seeing a trend here, Lyddie?"

"No shit, Sherlock. But anyway, I was going to ask, when does the kid start school again?"

"Wednesday."

"I know it's kind of short notice and all, but Em got here a couple days ago, and we were talking about how much we miss the niece and all-"

"So why don't you come down this weekend?"

She laughed, almost the laugh I recognize from times past. "Hey, that's what I like about you, Al. You make it easy. Okay if we drive down tomorrow?"

"Works for me." I know, I should really ask Langly first, but I can't...and for all I know, he could be working all weekend. If nothing else, there will soon be an October issue of the news magazine to get out...and it does take time to pull it together. "You do know we have another kid, don't you?"

"Miranda was saying something about, Langly's got a nephew?"

"Yeah. From a brother he didn't know he had for over two decades. Tell me, is life getting weird, or is it me?"

That wonderful laugh again. "Getting? Rephrase that, Al."

"Okay, life IS weird. And becoming weirder all the time."

"No kidding, but hey, we really are looking forward to seeing you guys...and seeing as I don't have to be at work next week, I guess the one thing is I get to take a little vacation."

"Don't forget to bring swimsuits. We've got a pool now."

"That much we got from Miranda. And Al?"

"Yeah."

"Beer. Mexican. Lots of it."

"You're on, girl."

I hang up, feeling a lot better in spite of it all.

This is a connection I cherish, and don't want to lose. Perhaps this is a chance to reestablish it. I hope.
 

Announcing to Miranda that her aunts would be present and in the flesh sometime tomorrow improves her mood somewhat. At least when I close the door to her room (which I'm really afraid to look at full-on) I'm no longer hearing syllables that relate to what an evil bitch I am.

Of course, now where to put the aunts...

There is Patrick's room, which is now somewhat completed (it's a room, structurally, and not the photo lab, but as for anything resembling interior decorating, unless you count mountains of toys strewn on the floor interior decorating, it hasn't happened yet). I suppose I could attempt to wade through that and move him back to his original spot in the alcove off the living room...or shove him in with Miranda-okay, scratch that. My risk tolerance is not that high.

I'm thinking maybe the Motel 6 about a mile and half from here...

Oh fuck it. If I'm gonna make them stay off-campus, I'm going to put them up in a decent place.

I book a suite at the Marriott. This way we're not all climbing down each other's throats and clambering for the bathroom. There's enough room that if Miranda wants to stay with them, she can. And Shelby, if she's so inclined. Of course, since Shelby's older sister is on the road until Sunday, and she's with us, whatever Miranda wants to do, she'll more or less
have to follow suit.

For a moment, I entertain the thought I did this wrong...

I should've booked the suite at the Marriott-for myself. And left everyone to deal.

The idea of doing this amuses me greatly.

God, the things I do for amusement these days. I had the misfortune to be in Wal-Mart one day, with all the kids, and getting pissed off at the crowds and the cheesy merchandise and just everything there is about Wal-Mart. So I taught the kids how to Shop for Others.

It's easy. You simply pick an item that you figure the person isn't going to buy, slip it in their basket, and move on. Stealth is important, as is speed. Then you try to hit the cash lines at about the same time that most of your victims do and watch how they react. My biggest problem is that every time I do this-and I haven't done it since college, mind you-I lapse into gales of giggles. This makes the stealth portion of the task much more difficult.

It was well worth it when the supermodelish young woman whom we carefully placed a tube of Preparation H in her basket responded with a shriek upon discovering her previously unknown purchase.

Miranda, Patrick, Shelby and I laughed our asses off all the way home.

Maybe next weekend we'll try it at Target.
 

Miranda and Shelby decide it's time to hit the water, and Patrick of course feels compelled to tag along. They're annoyed initially, but they accept him without an excessive amount of grumbling.

I'm sipping a beer when Langly pulls up-and it's only 7:30. With the exception of the night Frohike took so ill, this is the earliest I've seen him all week.

I go to engage in the ritual embrace with him, and I'm greeted with tired, dull eyes, a red nose, and a scratchy, drippy voice.

Hmm. Maybe inviting the aunties was not such a great idea this weekend...

But at least they're not staying in the house.

"Ally, I like it when you share stuff, but communicable diseases aren't what I had in mind," he complains.

"C'mon, babe, it's only a head cold." (which previously I was complaining about furiously).

"I feel like shit. And I gotta get rid of it so I can see Frohike."

I massage his lower back, slipping my fingers under the edge of his shirt. "Would you consider forgiving me if I brought you dinner in bed and let you watch whatever you want on TV?"

He pretends to concentrate on that one. "Probably. Let's see how much you can spoil me, and I'll think about it."

"You forget, I'm a Jewish mom."

"Well, you just increased your odds." He then gives me that sweet, wicked grin I love on him so much...

And when he looks at me like that, well, I'd murder for him if I had to.
 

"I think I'll just stay in this bed and never get out," he says, snuggling into the sheets and channel-surfing.

"Sheets are going to get pretty disgusting, then."

"You mean you couldn't do it with me in bed? They did it when I was in the hospital."

"I don't have a qualified and eager staff."

"Train the kiddies."

"Yeah, right."

Speaking of kiddies, Patrick comes in. He climbs up on the bed, and then on top of Langly, who protests but also gives him a huge hug.

"Why you in bed?" He demands of Langly.

"'Cause I'm sick."

This causes Patrick to frown. "My other daddy got sick."

"It's not like that, sweetheart," I assure him. "He's not that sick, and plus he's playing me for all the sympathy I've got."

"Damn straight," Langly nods at the TV.

This time, there's a knock first, and then entry before we can announce whether or not the entrants are permitted.

"What're you guys doing?" Miranda demands.

"Watching TV. What does it look like?" Langly asks her, continuing to channel-surf aimlessly.

"You're not watching TV, you're screwing around with the remote. Give me that," Miranda snatches it from his hands.

"Hey! It's my room and I'm in charge of the remote!" He squawks hoarsely at her.

"Not now, dude. So like what's on?"

"Nothing, it's Friday night."

"Mom, we have nearly 7000 channels, something has to be on!"

"Cartoon Network!" Patrick demands.

"No, MTV," Shelby chimes in.

We finally decide on an episode of 'The X-Files,' rerunning on Fox Cable. Patrick might be a little freaked by it, but we decide that as long as he's with us, he should be fine.

And even I, cartoon junkie that I am, have seen enough of the Cartoon Network today.

"Hey, this is a cool one!" Miranda can recognize most of the eps from the teaser.

"Isn't this the one where the lead character meets those three wacky guys?" Shelby asks. I think she's right.

So we kick back, all in Langly's and my bed, for a slice of suburban life...even the cats come to join us.

It's bliss.

And I chuckle at the thought that we'd be a great advertisement for family values.

Particularly since they have NO idea.

END OF PART 32